The Curious Caterpillar and the Very Hungry Cat

The curious caterpillar crept across the kitchen floor.

The sleepy man turned on the coffee machine.

The very hungry cat meowed at the man.

Meow. Meow. Meow.

I just fed you, said the man.

The very hungry cat looked at something on the floor.

The very hungry cat played with it a little, as cats do.

What the hell’re you playing with? said the man.

Don’t eat that, he said.

The man squinted because his eyes weren’t focused yet. It was still early.

The man bent over and tried to pick up what the very hungry cat was playing with.

It looked like green felt, to his bleary eyes.

But it felt like a warm piece of fat.

Yuck, said the man.

Meow. Meow. Meow, said the very hungry cat.

Frickin’ caterpillar come from, said the man.

Go ahead and eat it, said the man.

The end.

Hungry for fried chicken

I was so hungry for fried chicken today it was as if I had been hungry for fried chicken all my life. Born hungry for fried chicken. And I even found myself at a KFC, at lunchtime, but still had a problem: get the regular smallish-seeming lunch, or the bucket for two people? Because they had nothing in between.

So I got the bucket for two people, and ate the whole damned thing, and now I hate fried chicken, and the Colonel looks like he got a bad face lift, and I can feel a migraine coming on.

I hate fried chicken.